


True North (Red Song)

by coffeestainanalyst



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Character studies, Gen, High Caos, I watch the world burn but you are my little princess and I love you, medium chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeestainanalyst/pseuds/coffeestainanalyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too late for him. It has already been too late when he started realizing his mistake – that the fact that he's the one who makes people suffer now does not mean he will no longer suffer himself. There is pain enough for all of them.</p><p> </p><p>For a kinkmeme prompt that requested more high chaos Corvo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True North (Red Song)

The water is hot enough to steam. Corvo holds his breath and submerges – when he rises, the water has turned red. (It is not his own blood, mostly.)  
  
The liquid swirls against his skin like tide against the shore, a ruby ocean singing of  _Death, death, death_. He cannot see himself through the tainted water, cannot see the marks on his skin and he prefers it that way.  
  
 _(I love your scars_ , she'd said once and tenderly traced a faded one on his chest. _They tell of battles honorably won, and you can wear them with pride._ )  
  
(Not these ones.)  
  
He starts scrubbing his skin, scrubing away memories that threaten to rise (again) from the dark corner he's banished them to, fathomless and monstrous like creatures from the sea. He scrubs until his skin turns red and burns, and who cares what they've reduced him to, who cares if they  _laughed_ , he has not signed the confession and now he paints the city red with the blood of the likes of them.  
  
(Who's laughing now?)  
  
It's too late for him, though. It has already been too late when he started realizing his mistake – that the fact that he's the one who makes people suffer now does not mean he will no longer suffer himself. There is pain enough for all of them.  
  
Corvo shrugs the thoughts off, steadies his breath. It is of no relevance. None of this is about him. His sole purpose is to clear the way for Emily's reign, and destroy everyone who stands in the way. He cannot undo his failing to Jessamine, but he will not make the same mistakes again; he must be as hard and unyielding as the steel of his blade – to others, and to himself. While the traitors are going to choke on their own blood, a faceless assassin will be watching, and he'll  _smile_.

Corvo knows he has become more than a man: a purpose, a living nightmare, so powerful no one in the whole city can destroy him now.   
  
(No one but her.)  
  
( _"Why could you not save mother?_ ")  
  
He'll carry Emily to the throne, if needed over the dead body of every single Dunwaller.  
  
Then, he will finally let go and kneel before a new Empress, awaiting her judgment. He will not ask for forgiveness.  
  
(He does not deserve it.)

Suddenly, panic threatens to overcome Corvo. He needs to see Emily right away.

From time to time, out of nowhere, fear closes its icy fist around his guts and as his pulse stumbles to catch up, he's suddenly sure that his presumed reality is no more than a feverish dream, that Emily is still gone ( _dead, dead_ ) and he has failed her, too.  
  
Hurriedly, he gets out of the bathtub and towels himself off. Even though his heart pounds like he's just run for his life, he dresses himself carefully. (Covers himself up). The buttons fly through his hands and only when he's all done he wipes the steam off the mirror.  
  
His reflection looks presentable but for the look on its face. (The hunter or the prey?) 

Corvo runs the towel through his hair again and dries his face. He forces his features to relax. (He mustn't scare her.) Only when he is content with the result he exits the bathroom and allows hasty steps to carry him towards Emiliy's chamber.  
  
(Not a hundred baths could transform him into a man that should be in the same room as a child, but he needs to see her, he needs to  _make sure_.)  
  
Halfway to the tower, walking the planks as steadily as a paved street, a voice gets carried to his ear and it's  _hers_. Corvo's heart skips a beat.  _Thank you_ , he mutters and he is not sure whom he's talking to.  
  
"Corvo!" Emily sees him approaching, abandons her drawing and jumps into his arms. (She is so light, so small. So  _breakable_.)   
  
(He'll protect her to his dying breath.)  
  
She laughs and brushes a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "You really need a haircut. I'll give you one one of these days. Oh – wait."

She jumps down and rushes off past Callista, who greets him with a nod. (He'd almost forgotten she was there.)  
  
"Corvo. I'm glad to see you well. Emily has been drawing all day. I'm worrie-" She is shut off by the Lady Emily, who returns with a cry.  
  
"Look, look, I painted something for you. It's almost finished." She hands Corvo a drawing of a masked man (him, the  _him_  he has become) holding a knife, hovering over a pile of dead bodies. "Have you killed many bad people today?"  
  
She's drawn blood and gore and Corvo hates that she knows what it looks like. (It's his fault.)  
  
Emily's hair feels impossibly soft as he gently strokes it. (Like –  _no_. He can't go there.)  
  
"They will not bother us ever again," he answers.  
  
"Good!" she says with grim satisfaction. "I'll finish the drawing right away, and then I'll give it to you for good luck."  
  
Corvo can't help but smile. "Thank you, little Empress."  
  
While Emily works at her desk, gnawing her lips in concentration, Callista gives Corvo a short summary of their day and her charge's latest behavior. ("Sometimes, she's just  _so angry._ ")  
  
When all is said and done, Corvo walks over to Emily (he doesn't want to leave yet) but she quickly covers the painting with her hands. "It's a surprise! Leave me to it now, I'll bring it over later." And thus he is dismissed.  
  
He bids farewell to Callista and disappears out of the window as silently as he has come.

 

\---

 

In his room, he removes his shoes and vest and sits down on the bed. He knows he should rest, he 'll need all his strength again tomorrow. (But when he sleeps, they come for him.)  
  
He crawls underneath the sheets, almost fully clothed and with his sword by his side. (And a knife, and another.)  
  
He remembers Emily sneaking into his chambers years ago. She used to do that occasionally ever since Jessamine had decided she was old enough to sleep in her own wing. Even at seven, she'd rather bite her tongue than admitting to be scared.

("I need protection," she simply states and climbs into his bed. Before he can even point out the guards on every floor she waves him off. "Even I just sneaked past them, didn't I? Besides, who could be content with ordinary guards, when they have their own Lord Protector?"  
He smiles mildly and wraps soft layers of blankets around her. She wriggles until she rests against him, and within moments is asleep as sound and peaceful as only a child can.  
Corvo stays awake for a long time, watching the stars through the open window and listens to Emily's steady breathing. He thinks about family.)

He's grateful for Callista, for someone kind and stable in the future Empress' life. But right now he can't help thinking that if Callista wouldn't be occupying the second bed, he could sleep in Emily's room. (And nobody would know who was protecting whom this time.)  
  
As the sky grows darker and moonlight starts painting patterns on the attic floor (sleep still does not come) Corvo hears footsteps approaching. He sits up. "Emily?"  
  
The girl climbs in through the window and gives him a self-satisfied grin. "Sorry I'm late – I had to wait 'till Callista was asleep. She does not like my drawing."  
  
Emily hands Corvo a piece of paper and he unfurls it. The masked man still looms on a pile of dead, only now there is a second figure beside him, (holding his hand), a girl whose white clothes are speckled with red, and on her head she wears a crown.   
  
Emily beams at him. "Do you like it?"  
  
Corvo frowns. "Why are you bleeding?" He gestures at picture-Emily's stained clothes.  
  
"I'm not," she answers. "It's the blood of my enemies."  
  
"Oh." Corvos considers this. He nods. "Then I like it."  
  
Emily laughs proudly and snatches the picture out of his hands again. Climbing on the bed, she produces a pin and puts the drawing on the wall. "For good luck," she repeats.

\---

Hours later, as the night's darkness reaches its peak, faint moonlight finds two bodies nestled under the covers, holding on to knives and to each other, breathing peacefully, and neither human nor dream dares disturb their sleep.  
  
From the window, the shadow of something not quite human watches in curious silence. In the distance, the pitch black ocean continues its deadly song.

**Author's Note:**

> Wait - have I just turned high chaos Corvo into a giant fluffball? o.O  
> Damn, I'm so sorry. Hope he's still crazy enough for your enjoyment.


End file.
